


don't you ever wonder what it's like out there?

by birdybirdnerd



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Angst, Gen, also narrator doesnt know that hes a lil bitch, also stanley has Major Depression TM, everyone in this fuckign game needs to chill and take a nap, im love projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 08:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17321621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdybirdnerd/pseuds/birdybirdnerd
Summary: The Narrator has a short fuse, and many problems, and takes it out on those who least deserve it.In other words, the Parable wears down on even the strongest of wills.





	don't you ever wonder what it's like out there?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicxan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/gifts).



> YEAH IM UHHH WORKING ON SOMEWHERE ELSE I SWEAR LIFE JUST SUCKS AND HOLIDAY RETAIL HELL SEASON IS HELL
> 
> also hey nicxan ilysm

Silence permeated the air in the small employee lounge, broken only by the occasional shuffling of papers and scratch of a pencil. Rain pattered against the window, though you couldn’t tell by looking at it. Only blank white shone through, as it always had. Or rather, as it had for as long as Stanley could remember.

He didn’t know how long he’d been in the office, only that he was tired of it. So, so tired. Endless cycles, countless resets, he was so sick of it all.

Of course, the Narrator knew that. Had known it for awhile. That didn’t stop him from forcing Stanley through the game, over and over again, for some twisted and unknown reason. It was enough to drive a man insane- it had, on several occasions. But with how the world reset at the end each time, it always passed, leaving Stanley sitting at his desk, cracks in his mind sealed over once more and he would get up again and begin the game _again._

He closed his eyes, soft suede pressing into his back as he lay on one of the lounge couches. The Narrator had long ago exhausted all his commentary and quips about how _wonderful_ the lounge was, but shouldn’t Stanley be getting along right about now? No, he decided. Stanley needed a break, and there was nothing short of restarting the game the Narrator could do to move him.

Eventually, the voice went silent. Blissfully silent, and Stanley was left alone with his thoughts. Though the scratching of pencil on paper was concerning, as it meant the Narrator was possibly thinking up new ways to torture Stanley. Well, at least it would be something new, Stanley mused. He had every path and line of dialogue memorized at this point, and could walk the office in his sleep.

Hours passed before the Narrator sighed, and Stanley heard the soft _click_ of him setting down the pencil.

“Stanley, you know you can’t stay here forever,” he said. “The game must go on, eventually.”

 _Yeah, that’s what I’m putting off,_ Stanley thought, not opening his eyes. Outwardly, he crossed his arms over his chest, and did nothing else.

The Narrator _harrumphed._  “Don’t ignore me, Stanley. You’ve done enough of that, now get up and get on with it.” The door leading out of the lounge closed and opened again, as if beckoning him. Stanley only spared it a cursory glance before closing his eyes again.

“You know, you can’t sleep here,” the Narrator chuckled. “No matter how hard you try. That’s part of the design of the game; to achieve maximum ending-reaching efficiency, you never grow tired. Couldn’t you tell?”

Yeah, Stanley had noticed that. Didn’t mean he’d stop trying.

 _I am tired,_ he signed up at the ceiling. _Tired of your bullshit._

“Stanley!”

He chuckled at the affronted tone to the Narrator’s voice, and could just imagine him clutching at his heart in shock. It was nice to get a rise out of the man every once in awhile, even if it went against Stanley’s nature to curse so blithely.

The Narrator wasn’t as pleased. “You know,” he said coldly, “I’ve been working on some new content, while you were wasting away the hours in this boring room. I can see you’ve gotten _bored_ with my work, so I thought to myself, ‘Why not surprise Stanley with some new torture? After all, he so _clearly_ hates what I’ve provided him with, the avenues of storytelling I’ve woven just for him. Why not give him something _new_ to play with? Something _harder?’_ ”

Stanley’s brow creased, and he looked up to the ceiling. Something like dread dropped in the pit of his stomach.

Voice raising as he went on, the Narrator continued. “So while you sat there, head full of nothing, I wrote up some new endings for you. Do you want to hear them, Stanley?

“In one, it goes just like the Freedom Ending: you find the mind control center, turn it off, the door opens, freedom! Ta-da!” He laughed, the sound sending ice down Stanley’s spine. “The twist is, I would let you step outside. You would wander around, find civilization, maybe even make a home for yourself. You’d think: ‘Is this it? Am I finally free?’ You’d have your doubts of course, who wouldn’t?

“But they would fade as time went on, and you’d be happy, thinking you’d finally escaped this hell.”

Chuckling again, the Narrator’s voice dropped into a low growl.

“And then I would restart the game, and you’d be back where you started. It would _break_ you.”

Stanley was horrified as the Narrator laughed. He sat up, hands a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the couch as he staved off a panic attack. It had seemed nothing could top the horror of the Countdown Ending, but this was beyond cruel.

But the Narrator didn’t seem to notice, and hummed thoughtfully as he continued. “Or maybe, depending on my mood, I might just let you wander aimlessly through the woods surrounding the complex for eternity.” He gasped in delight, a sudden idea coming to him. “Or suffer a bear attack! Oh, this sounds positively _delightful_ , maybe I should do that. And right at the moment the beast’s jaws clamp around your throat and you felt your life draining away, you would-”

The Narrator stopped. “...Stanley? Are you alright?”

You see, Stanley had cried before. Wordless screaming, sobbing in a corner, beating on the walls as he threw a fit for the life he could never return to. Yes, the Narrator had seen him cry before in many ways, but not quite like this.

Stanley hadn’t made a sound, tears slipping down his face as he lowered his head. One couldn’t even tell what was wrong without looking closely, but the Narrator saw.

Something about this was… different.

He…

He didn’t like it.

“Stanley?” he asked quietly. “Is everything alright?”

The man didn’t respond, just curling up on the couch, facing the back with his knees tucked to his chest. He went still, shoulders not even shaking as he continued to cry silently.

The Narrator went silent for a long moment. Only when a violent shudder wracked Stanley’s body did he speak up, softly.

“I’m… sorry, Stanley,” he murmured. “That was too far, even for me.”

Stanley didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge the other man had spoken at all, so the Narrator continued.

“I do- well, I do care. About you.” The Narrator sighed. He sounded so, so tired. “It’s only the two of us, after all. I do want what’s best for you, but, well…”

Silence, before the Narrator huffed a rueful laugh. “I’m just as much a prisoner here as you are.”

Stanley shifted at that, tilting his ear more towards the ceiling. He still didn’t look up, but the crying seemed to have abated at least.

“I want to escape this just as much as you,” the Narrator admitted. “I want true freedom too. But there’s only so much I can do. I control the parable, nothing more. And even then, there are limitations to my power.

“I can make more endings, I can change those that exist, but when it comes to the world outside? I don’t know anything else.” The usually cool and collected voice that presided over Stanley’s world _cracked_ as he added, “I don’t know _anything._ ”

Stanley sniffed and sat up, finally. He wiped his face, rubbed his eyes, and leaned back into the couch cushions. Sending a tired smile up towards the ceiling, he signed, _Join the club._

The Narrator laughed, unexpectedly. “A club for clueless idiots. Sounds perfect for the pair of us.” Stanley got the impression he was shaking his head fondly, and was glad his tear-stained cheeks hid his flush.

The door leading out of the lounge closed softly as the lights dimmed. Even the buzzing of the vending machine seemed to fade, leaving the room feeling peaceful.

“Get some rest, Stanley,” The Narrator murmured. “We’ll start again later, but for now, we both need a break.”

_Thank you._


End file.
